


Turpentine and Patches

by actuallyk80



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Kiss, First Time, High School - Au, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mystrade if you squint, SO MUCH TEA, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Sherlock is insufferable, Teenlock, unrepentant John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3062396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actuallyk80/pseuds/actuallyk80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is full of insufferable idiots, and one of the biggest is Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hard ground met high arches as he walked, the autumn air passing insistently over the dark curls that contrasted starkly with an alabaster forehead. Sherlock's breath rose petulantly above him, carbon dioxide clouds tainting the brittle September morning sky. The entrance gate loomed dismally before him, and with a sigh he pushed through it, shifting his rucksack higher on his shoulder with a practiced shrug. 

Students milled about on the impeccably groomed campus grounds, enthusiastically reuniting with friends from years previous. Pack animals, Sherlock thought absently, noting how there was not one student in sight who was not involved in a group of equally low intelligence. Glowering blue-green eyes forward, Sherlock followed the stone path to his dorm house, pausing only to check his room number before bounding up the abominably carpeted stairway. 221 was located near the end of the unnecessarily opulent hall. Satisfactory. Lower probability of his questionable experiments being discovered and disturbed. 

The door opened easily on its hinges, slamming open with certainty. Sherlock's eyes swept over the room once, taking quick stock. Two beds, adequately sized for egg incubation if pushed together; desks barely large enough to fit a third of his book collection. The windows were properly covered, but the obscenely bright lamps would definitely have to go. 

He was nearly unpacked before he remembered the room was meant for two occupants. 

~~~~~

"No. No, Mr Holmes, I will not allow it." The pudgy woman's clipped voice rang through the room. John Watson looked up in interest. The headmaster's assistant rarely left her office before noon. Her pointed heels were wobbling down the lobby steps of Reddington Preparatory Academy, her pace a bit hurried, as if she was running away from someone with the intention of being polite about it. 

Sarah's head shifted slightly in his lap, and John returned his attention gladly to petting her soft brown waves. "What's that about?" she asked, then reached up to follow the strong line of John's jaw with her warm, tan finger. John swallowed, then grinned. "Does it matter?" he replied, his voice impish. 

"McTaull is an indolent, insufferable fool with a penchant for binge drinking and a pattern of horrifying stupidity. I refuse to allow him access to my dorm." John's head snapped back up at the sound of that smooth baritone, oddly deep for a voice so young. 

A tall, inky-haired boy had followed the assistant down the steps, his long stride quickly overcoming the distance between the two. Sarah sat up and nudged John in the ribs. "Looks like Madame Rosen's having a lovely first of term." She snickered as they watched the scene unfold before their sight. 

The boy, presumably Holmes, had stepped in front of Madame Rosen's path, awaiting her response. She shrank back a bit: something about his eyes. "School policy requires students to-"

"Perhaps you would like to be reintroduced to my brother, Madame? I'm sure he would be delighted." Holmes' voice was passive, his tone bored. Rosen's eyes widened. Her mouth opened, then closed. She cleared her throat and stuttered delicately, "Th-that won't be necessary, Mr Holmes. I will inform Mr McTaull of his boarding change."

John wondered at that, at the power this mysterious Holmes brother had to produce such a reaction from the Madame with just a mention of his name. Wondered at Holmes himself.

Holmes nodded at the headmaster's assistant, apparently satisfied, then swept past her, heading toward the door opposite. Heading toward John. 

John watched the boy glide closer. Holmes was slender, frightfully so. He was without a tie, and the sleeves of his white button-down were carelessly rolled up past his milky wrists. Sarah coughed slightly, stifling a giggle. 

The sound made the boy pause, his gaze moving impassively over her and the rest of the group with whom she and John were sitting. Holmes reached John last, and without warning John felt robbed of oxygen as the strange boy with the strange features latched his eyes onto the blond athlete's, piercing, observant. John shuddered slightly. There was something hard in Holmes' gaze, cold and uncompromising. The sheer force of it was almost invasive, and John's thoughts scattered. Suddenly the pale boy broke the scorching contact and strode away, posture no less unruffled than before the short encounter. 

The tense silence was shattered as Sarah started laughing. "What a psychopath," she tittered. The rest joined in, Cairne's girlfriend Sally tossing out 'freak' more than once. John felt vaguely violated. 

"Who was that?" he asked Sarah lightly, to show how absolutely little he was interested. "Must have some nerve to confront Rosen before she's had her morning coffee." 

Sarah snorted at him. "Holmes? He's a nobody. Thinks he's above us all, the prick. Genius clever, really, but insults everyone in sight and chooses to stay alone. Shame, that. Sherlock Holmes is a nice sight if I ever saw one."

John raised an eyebrow at her. She chuckled and kissed him, warm lips on warm lips. "Not as handsome as you, Master Watson." Jeers and guffaws from the rest of the rugby team assaulted them for that. John kicked the closest one. "Jealous, Jeffreys?" Jeffreys kicked him back. "Not at all, Captain." 

Sherlock. Fitting name, thought John. Odd name for an odd boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates once a week (: I know how horrid it is to become invested in a fic only to have it end in the middle. Pinky promise I won't let that happen. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, you guys are my favorite fandom!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this one took so long! I thought I had put it up last week, but apparently never actually hit 'publish.' Oh well, two chapters this week to make up for it :)

Light streamed through the slatted blinds and struck harshly across John’s face. He groaned, his head throbbing and his eyes burning behind his eyelids. Mondays were the worst for John, as his rugby mates insisted on getting smashed after every game. And as team captain, John was obligated to go and make sure no one made too much of a fool of themselves. Mostly, he didn’t begrudge his teammates their fun, but his current state of dry mouth and sticky eyes threatened to change that.

The bed was warm and conformed to John’s body after several weeks of use. The lingering throbs in his skull, though irritating, were rhythmic, and his struggling eyelids were inviting him to let go and sink once more into a dark cocoon sleep. He had a history div at nine, and John was god-awful at the subject, but honestly it probably wasn’t even close to nine now, and if he did end up missing it, surely one class wouldn’t be too hard to make up…?  


John’s justifications slid away quietly and trailed to nothing more than gossamer whispers as he settled deeper under his sheets, and by and by he floated blackly into slumber.

~~~

Tick. Tick. Tick. The stunted movement of the second hand on the grandfather clock to Sherlock’s right was giving him hives. Not literally, though not for the first time today he wished it would, for then he would at least have an excuse to leave this morbidly tedious office.

Sherlock draped his long legs elegantly over one of the arms of his mahogany chair. The room was decorated in a glaring, stately manner, all burgundy and plush rugs and high-backed chairs. Sherlock hated it on principle, much like he detested this posh school and the exasperated secretary sitting across from him.

Said secretary leaned forward, heels of her hands pressing firmly against the desk of ridiculous proportions. “Mr Holmes, in the past five weeks you have attended each of your classes exactly twice. Reddington’s attendance policy requires every student to be present in their divs three times a week at the barest minimum. I don’t understand how you expect to advance from sixth form if you continue on in such an irresponsible manner.” Madame Rosen looked at him with a pained smile, appearing more than slightly constipated.

Sherlock didn’t deign respond to such imbecility. He gave her an even stare, and his eyes narrowed as he glanced over her clothing. She had crumbs hidden in the folds of her ruffled blouse – ate in a hurry, but then her outfit was pressed, so something caused her tardiness after she presumable awoke on time. A platinum chain necklace too nice for her pay lay primly on her nearly invisible collarbones, and her fingers were shaking slightly and - oh, significant other. Boyfriend, on account of balance of probability, though really no way to know for sure. The necklace was evidently a gift, and given this morning given that it had yet to accumulate enough sweat and skin cells to dull even slightly. That’s what made Rosen late, the present. Based on the crumbs on the front of her shirt, she had toast for breakfast. So: necklace (not for anniversary, she didn’t have a boyfriend when term started, therefore, birthday), toast for breakfast and no lunch. Hence the shaking fingers (even though it's nearly two and substantially past lunch break), and the optimistically fit blouse. Sherlock sat up, swinging legs in one smooth motion. 

"Your boyfriend find you attractive at your current size. Prefers it, even. So do humanity a favor and eat a real dinner tonight, perhaps you won't be as appallingly foggy-brained." Miss Rosen pursed her lips, eyes widening only a fraction. This is far from the first time she had been deduced by Sherlock Holmes, though if she were a tiny bit honest she would admit it still amazes her. Sherlock took advantage of the lapse in focus and stood swiftly, turning to leave. Before exiting the room he casually turned back and lazed, "Oh, and congratulations on surviving another year to inflict your ignorance upon us all." He sauntered out the door, and this time he didn't turn back, leaving the Madame with mouth unhinged and eyebrows furled.  
~~~ 

The only reason he was able to miss so many divs without being expelled was simply that he didn't need to attend the lectures to ace his courses, and Sherlock knew that on day one. He also knows his scores are vital to maintain Reddington's high average, and the school would do almost anything to keep him there. By week three of the semester, this was common knowledge throughout the academy, though it hardly stopped Sherlock's professors from hating that he shows up to class only for assessment and yet, seemingly without effort, is still Reddington's top student. 

Sherlock considered this with some satisfaction while he made his way through the ghastly halls toward the library. There was a section in the back of which he was rather fond, near the shelves holding tomes of microbial biology, with a window seat placed conveniently by a heating vent. His study on the growth inhibition effects of squirrel urine was drawing neatly to a close, but the last few days of any long-term experiment are delicate and the moss's exposure to sunlight must be carefully monitored - 

There was a loud crash as Sherlock collided with something, his lithe limbs tangling. Or rather, collided with someone, Sherlock amended, after a soft grunt was heard somewhere beneath him. Sherlock scrambled to his feet, fuming at his loss of balance and interrupted thoughts. The other student was still recovering on the carpeted floor of the library, picking up spilled books and fly-away papers. He stood up at last, and upon seeing Sherlock his pale lips formed a surprised "oh," eyes bleary and blond hair mussed.  


Sherlock barely had time to think 'bleary at two o'clock?' before the shorter boy breathed, "Holmes."


End file.
